Beyond the Sea
by Sasjah Miller
Summary: When all things come to an end, who will be there with you?" (homoerotic references)


Title: Beyond the Sea  
  
Author: Sasjah Miller  
  
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Feedback: yes, please  
  
Archive: please ask, I'll probably say yes  
  
Disclaimer: not mine, Tolkien's   
  
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... Mornië utúlië (Darkness has come)   
  
Believe and you will find your way   
  
Mornië alantië (Darkness has fallen)   
  
A promise lives within you now...   
  
Enya - May it Be   
  
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They gave me some sort of a burial, so I guess I must have died. I   
  
don't remember much of the actual moment of my death, only that   
  
I welcomed it as an ending to unending pain and that I was gazing   
  
through my tears into the endless sea of Aragorn's eyes while my   
  
lungs filled up with blood. My own tears obscuring my last view of   
  
him, my own lifeblood drowning me, sweeping me away from him   
  
forever.  
  
They cleansed my body, removed the arrows that killed me, put me   
  
in an Elven boat with my broadsword and the cloven Horn of   
  
Gondor and as many Orc weapons as space would allow, so I think   
  
I must have died honorably. I don't remember much of my last   
  
fight, apart from the end, when the Halflings were carried off by   
  
stinking Orcs, screaming and fighting and kicking, until one of the   
  
foul creatures hit them brutally over the head so they hung like   
  
dead weights as the creatures of darkness ran past me, their casual   
  
carrying of their burden a final insult.  
  
They sang a lament for me, Aragorn, and Legolas, their eyes   
  
rimmed red with unshed tears, while Gimli stood by with bowed   
  
bead, so my death must have meant something to them, even if my   
  
life gave them so much grief. I betrayed them at the end. No, not   
  
just at the end, I betrayed them right from the beginning. I never   
  
committed myself completely to the Quest. There were too many   
  
doubts, too much mistrust, too much pride and arrogance in my   
  
heart to ever become a real member of the Fellowship. And all this   
  
became my downfall in the end.  
  
Aragorn took the bracers from my arms with more tenderness than   
  
I had ever deserved, and he bound them around his own and filled   
  
his quill with the arrows that had slain me, while grief and anger   
  
raged in his eyes, so maybe, maybe, I meant something special to   
  
him after all.  
  
They pushed me away in this little boat of Elvengrey wood, they   
  
sent me down the Rauros Falls because it was too dangerous for   
  
them to give me a proper burial. I would not endanger them in   
  
death as I had done in life by falling prey to the temptation of the   
  
Ring. Instead of resting forever under a grassclad burial mound, I   
  
sped downward in a roar of water and foam and never-ending   
  
noise and spun round in whirlpools and eddies until the Anduin   
  
slowed its course and ambled forward towards the sea. The broken   
  
remains of my horn were washed away from me, as were the foul   
  
Orcs' weapons, which sank to the bottom of the river, the remains   
  
of my horn setting off on their own, unknown course.   
  
For days I drifted down the river, settling into the rhythm of gently   
  
lapping water, my spirit still hovering close by my dead body for   
  
some reason not wanting to take leave of my mortal remains just   
  
yet. And then, one night I passed the fields of Ithilien and I saw my   
  
beloved brother sitting near the water's edge, studious, pensive, as   
  
was always his way when he was not engaged in battle. Faramir,   
  
my brother, I loved you so dearly, more than I ever let you know.   
  
You were so much better than I was, even if our father did not   
  
deem you so. I am glad that it was I who undertook the fateful   
  
journey and not you, and that it was I who died failing to fulfill   
  
Gondor's promise of aiding the quest to bring the ring to Mordor.   
  
Our country would have fared so much worse if it had been   
  
otherwise. I see that clearly now. I see my flaws, my mistakes, the   
  
chances I missed, the opportunities I failed to see.  
  
This is what grieves me most of all, that in death I see what I could   
  
not when I was alive. It is all as clear to me now as the water that   
  
surrounds me, shining like the light of the Lady Galadriel as my   
  
funeral boat drifts ever further down the river Anduin. The river is   
  
widening more and more, the landscape is changing, trees make   
  
room for flat, dull plains, until the great river and I finally reach   
  
the sea. My mind floats along with my body, out into the bluegrey   
  
sea. I do not know for what reason, nor do I know what will   
  
happen, but somehow my body is still linked to my soul, a tenuous   
  
yet insistent tug pulling at my consciousness, not letting me find   
  
peace just yet.  
  
Seagulls accompany my still body, crying forlornly as they hover   
  
in the sky. They sing another funeral song for the Steward's son   
  
who failed to understand the look in the eyes of his King until it   
  
was too late. I was too preoccupied with myself, with Gondor, with   
  
his unwanted and unwarranted claims to the throne, claims that   
  
were made only in my mind. I drove myself mad with jealousy and   
  
wrongful accusations and never stopped to think what I meant to   
  
him, or what he meant to me. Or maybe I was just too afraid to   
  
admit it.  
  
The Eastwind, the wind that comes from Mordor, but is now   
  
seasoned with the sweet smell of Ithilien's flowers, speeds my boat   
  
further and further out onto the sea. Further and further away until   
  
even the seagulls leave me on this journey that I must make alone.   
  
I do not know where it will end, whether I will drift forever on a   
  
calm, grey sea, the sun filtering through my closed eyelids, the   
  
stars unable to lift the darkness in my eyes. But I am soothed,   
  
rocked like a little baby, the way my mother used to rock me when   
  
I was a little child and afraid of the dark.  
  
I am not afraid; no, how can I be. I am dead, there is nothing left to   
  
be afraid of. If any emotion is still here it is curiosity and maybe   
  
sadness that I will not see him again. My brother, my captain, my   
  
King even, but never my lover. And through no fault of his, I see   
  
that now. The offer was there all along, but I was too proud to see   
  
it. Too consumed in my notions of what was right and befitting,   
  
although my body betrayed itself over and over again as I would   
  
lie awake in a dark forest and stare at his sleeping form over the   
  
dying embers of our fire. He would have taken me, showed me   
  
what it is to love and be loved, even if he would not have forsaken   
  
Arwen, his betrothed. That much was clear to me from his   
  
goodbye to her when we left Rivendell. The love they shared   
  
would never be broken. And I would not, could not see further than   
  
that. I would not understand that there was room for more love in   
  
his heart besides the love for his Elven Lady. He would have loved   
  
me just as much if I had let him. I would not recognize that he   
  
would give me the same promise filled look when we would all sit   
  
together at night, tired, sharing a simple meal of bread and meat. I   
  
feel sad, realizing all this and I start to wonder how long my   
  
journey over this sea will take or where it will end.  
  
But something changes in the gentle, rocking motions of the water,   
  
a shortening of the waves that moves my boat in another, more   
  
jarring rhythm. And then my little boat is lifted in the sky, while   
  
the earth curves away beneath me and I am now drifting in the sky   
  
on a straight road through mist and clouds for what seems an   
  
eternity. Other, even more magnificent seagulls than the ones from   
  
before now sail the skies, flocking together one by one, until there   
  
are so many I cannot count them anymore and their lonely cries   
  
accompany me yet again on this final journey. And then the boat   
  
gently comes to a halt, the merest of shocks indicating that I have   
  
reached a place that is more than air and water. There is a freshness,   
  
a greenness in the air, like a rain curtain lifting from the air, and   
  
even in death I am gladdened.   
  
There are voices around me, speaking in a language that I have   
  
heard before, in dreams, in whispers, from Legolas' mouth. Elven   
  
voices sussuring like the waves and the wind that carried me here.   
  
Elven hands that steady the boat and pull it gently onto the shore.   
  
And Elven hands that lift my body out of the boat and carry it   
  
away, inland. I can do nothing but follow, my spirit still attached to   
  
the broken and marred flesh that was once my body. The Elves   
  
bring me to a beautiful yet somber looking hall, its walls and roof   
  
wrought with intricate designs, and they carry me inside.  
  
A grave looking woman sits there and they lay my body before her.   
  
She leans forward and puts a gentle hand on my forehead and I feel   
  
my spirit being drawn again towards my body. I slide inwards,   
  
turning and twisting; my body shudders and I gasp and I draw my   
  
first painful breath like a newborn baby. I open my eyes and look   
  
up into friendly, yet immeasurably sad eyes. There is a   
  
benevolence surrounding her that is more than I can bear. And I   
  
cry. I ended my life crying and I am starting my life, or whatever   
  
this gift that I have been given may be called, by crying again. I   
  
cry for everything I have lost, for the things I could have achieved   
  
if I had not been so flawed. I cry for I know I am in the Halls of   
  
Mandos from where I will board Mournië, the ship that will bring   
  
me to the unknown place where Men and all other mortals go. I cry   
  
for I know I will not see Aragorn again, I cry for my unanswered   
  
love. Because I now know that I loved him. I loved him with all   
  
my heart, I merely was too blind to see it. Finally my tears dry and   
  
the woman starts to speak, her voice soft and gentle.  
  
"Boromir, son of Denethor, welcome to the Halls of Mandos.   
  
Nienna I am, the one who gives solace to those waiting in my   
  
brother's Halls. As is the right of all mortals you have been given   
  
time to think about your past life in Arda before you will board the   
  
dark ship Mournië to return to Eru Iluvatar, the One. But you came   
  
not by the usual road that mortal Men will take to arrive here.   
  
Instead you were brought here by Elven wood, clad in Elven cloak   
  
and adorned with Elven clasp and therefore you will be given a   
  
boon. You need not spend your waiting days in the Dark Halls of   
  
Mandos but you will be allowed to review your life wherever you   
  
please on this island until you will be summoned again."  
  
I do not know what to say, but I rise and bow my head in thanks. I   
  
look up again and see Nienna smiling at me, and the great sorrow   
  
that was in my heart is lifted. The Elves, who have kept their   
  
distance while I gave voice to my grief, now come over and lead   
  
me gently away, into the sunshine.  
  
Countless days pass and I grow stronger again, the arrow wounds   
  
in my chest healing completely, leaving no trace or scar. I have   
  
spent these days on the western shores of the island from which I   
  
have watched the unfurling of the end of the Quest on Arda. I have   
  
seen Frodo and Sam travel through the barren lands of Mordor,   
  
their bond of love growing stronger and stronger, and I have seen   
  
them throw the One Ring in the Crack of Doom. I have seen their   
  
rescue and it gladdens me. It fills my heart with joy that these   
  
things have come to pass and that in a little, twisted way my death   
  
has contributed to this. In hindsight my death probably was   
  
necessary to set these events in motion. Had I lived and not   
  
succumbed to the temptation of the Ring none of this might have   
  
happened. We would have gone on, the eight of us, travelling   
  
together into Mordor, and we would all have been captured and   
  
died horribly at the hands of Sauron, casting the lands of Middle-  
  
Earth forever into misery and doom. My sombre predictions would   
  
have come true had I not died the way I did. It hurts, yet it also   
  
feels right: I have atoned for my sins and I now am content to sit   
  
on the shores of Aman, to look Eastwards and wait. I do not know   
  
what I am waiting for, but I will know what it is when it comes. I   
  
merely enjoy sitting here, finally at peace with myself and basking   
  
in the silveren sunlight.   
  
I feel a light tap on my shoulder and I turn around, looking into the   
  
radiant face of one of the Elves that brought me to the Halls of   
  
Mandos. She smiles at me, bends over and takes my hand.  
  
"It is time now," she says. "Come, Boromir."  
  
I rise and let myself be led over the island, crossing the Pellinor   
  
Mountains until the sun sets and we finally reach the dark Halls   
  
again. I look at my companion, questioning, not knowing what is   
  
expected of me and she beckons me to go on inside.  
  
I go in, and again I see Nienna, sitting behind a single fire, and to   
  
her left a group of people. I stand still, hesitating, not knowing   
  
what is expected of me, but she beckons me forward. I cross the   
  
hall towards her until I stand before her. I stand before her, my   
  
head bowed in deference.  
  
"Be welcome again, Boromir, to the Halls of Mandos from which I   
  
sent you away before. Man of Gondor, long have you waited on   
  
the shores of the Undying Lands, not knowing your fate, or what   
  
awaited you. But your waiting is now over. Long years have   
  
passed in the lands of Middle-Earth and everyone you ever knew   
  
has died or sailed from the Grey Havens to this island. Frodo   
  
Baggins has arrived, and Sam Gamgee, Peregrine Took, Meriadoc   
  
Brandibuck and the one you knew as Gandalf. The last ship   
  
brought Legolas Greenleaf, and Gimli, son of Gloin: the Elf and   
  
his Dwarven friend. But they are not the only ones who have come   
  
to Aman, to find their final destiny."  
  
She looks sideways to a little group of Men standing to her left in   
  
the gloom, who come forward as she beckons them, and I gasp in   
  
surprise as before me stands Aragorn, and he laughs and walks up   
  
to me. I fall to my knees, from shock and because it is the proper   
  
thing to do: to give honor to my King.  
  
I kneel frozenly, head bowed, cheeks aflame with shame and desire   
  
and I do not know how I must respond, for it is not only Aragorn   
  
who is here, but Arwen stands beside him. But she smiles at me,   
  
takes my hand to pull me up. She whispers to me that she knows,   
  
and has always known and that it is all right. Aragorn kisses my   
  
brow, kisses the same spot where he gave me his goodbye kiss, the   
  
seal of his love for me, and I smile and weep at the same time,   
  
noticing that he is still wearing my bracers, the leather now old and   
  
worn, the white tree barely visible anymore.  
  
"My Boromir, Arandur mine, we will go our final road together."   
  
He kisses me tenderly, lovingly, and I know that everything has   
  
come full circle now. This is the reason of my waiting for so long   
  
in the Undying Lands. We stand together, his arms around me,   
  
holding me as if he has done so all his life. We are silent, words   
  
are no longer necessary as everything has already been said.  
  
Nienna speaks again, breaking the silence. "Mournië is waiting for   
  
you to bring you beyond the boundaries of Arda and it will sail   
  
soon. You must go now on your final journey."  
  
The ship, its purple dark sails softly flapping in the wind, lies in   
  
the haven on the farthest shore of Aman. Night is falling and the   
  
stars are coming out. As the three of us board the ship I look   
  
upwards and see a lonely seagull soar darkly against the stars, its   
  
shape blotting out their humble light. It cries once, a farewell cry to   
  
those who are on the verge of leaving forever. I smile at the sound   
  
and I know that all will be well.  
  
The ship draws away from the shore and I see figures standing   
  
there. I recognize them, four small persons, standing hand in hand,   
  
and an oddly matched couple of Elf and Dwarf standing nearby,   
  
their hands lifted in greeting; a tall, stately figure is standing a little   
  
further away, gazing benevolently at us. I know we will meet again   
  
at the end of times, when this earth has died and from the ashes a   
  
new earth will be born, but untill then our parting is forever.  
  
And then we sail under an ever darkening sky, until we reach the   
  
walls of the world, rising up so they seem to bend in on themselves.   
  
A gate lies before us, its doors dark and unbidding, and   
  
anticipation courses through our bodies. This will be the last   
  
journey. What lies behind these gates will only be known to us.   
  
The dark gate opens and the ship starts to sail through. A gentle   
  
light, like sunlight in spring, shines through and we sail into a   
  
radiant morning, while the air smells of flowers after a gentle rain;   
  
our hearts rejoice as we disembark from the ship and walk into an   
  
everlasting spring together.  
  
The End  
  
Story notes: I always wondered when I was reading about   
  
Boromir's death and his journey down the Anduin about where he   
  
would eventually end up. One day, perusing a Tolkien Lexicon I   
  
was struck by a totally off tangent note on the story of King Arthur   
  
after the Battle of Camlann in which Arthur is sent off, mortally   
  
wounded, in a boat to the Island of Avalon. And then I had my very   
  
own answer about what had happened to Boromir after he sped   
  
down the Rauros Falls. :-)  
  
I gleaned a lot of information about Middle Earth afterlife from the   
  
Silmarillion, the Unfinished Tales, the Tolkien Lexicon and the   
  
Encyclopaedia of Arda that can be found at   
  
http://www.glyphweb.com/arda. Any mistakes and   
  
misinterpretations are entirely mine. Feel free to point out any of   
  
them.  
  
The straight road that Boromir's boat is taking is a reference to   
  
Aman's separation from the rest of Middle Earth after the   
  
Downfall of Numenor at the end of the Second Age. As of that   
  
moment one could only reach The Undying Lands through the   
  
"Straight Road", the road the Elven ships were only able to take   
  
and maybe some lost sailors who ended up there. The Halls of   
  
Mandos are the place in Aman where the dead go to consider their   
  
life. Nienna, Mandos' sister, spends most of her time there, and all   
  
cry to her, for she brings strength to the spirit and turns sorrow   
  
into wisdom. The mortals are then sent on the ship of Mournië to   
  
Eru, the One, outside the walls of Arda, the souls of the Elves are   
  
reawakened in a new body and sent back from Arda should they   
  
wish so.   
  
Lastly, Arandur is Elvish for Steward. 


End file.
